


Tempus Horizon

by Nerdanel



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Fairy Tale Elements, Gen, M/M, because he's beautiful goddamnit, long-haired Victor, making an appearance for the beauty, self-indulgent AU, this is also mindless fluff and I can't believe I wrote this, time slips
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-27
Updated: 2016-11-27
Packaged: 2018-09-02 12:29:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8667754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nerdanel/pseuds/Nerdanel
Summary: Victor had told Yuuri not to follow strange women into forests. Yuuri did not listen.

  [Yuuri meets fifteen-year old Victor Nikiforov, the impending junior world grand prix champion, just because]





	

**Author's Note:**

> I started writing this on Halloween, and then IRL went crazy and I never got around to finishing it. It's a self-indulgent AU where Yuuri experiences a timeslip (handwaved with fairy tale magic). Indulge me, won't you? Thanks! (There are some details here that don't really work anymore as we've gone through the series -- like Yuuri staying with Victor rather than at the hotel. But seriously. INDULGE ME. I'm sorry if it takes you out of the story. ;_; )

Once Victor had told him about Russian fairy tales, but Yuuri had been far too sleepy to properly pay attention. The Rostelecom Cup was almost upon them, and Yuuri was staying with Victor, though they spent most of their time practicing endlessly. His bones ached by the time they would be done, and then a mad scramble to their apartment and Yuuri would often fall asleep at the table. He never woke up there though, not even once.

So sometimes, when Victor wasn’t there in the morning, Yuuri liked to take Makkachin out for a walk. Or if Victor had taken her, he would go alone. There was a patch of wilderness just outside the area where they lived – Victor had an apartment in the far-flung areas of St. Petersburg, too, for quiet training – and currently it was doused in white wherever sight could reach. Yuuri rarely went too far because sometimes it felt as if it’d swallow him whole and he’d never be able to return. Today was one such day, and Yuuri lingered at the edge of the grove, mesmerised by the frosted over barks and leaves, needle thin and subdued green. It had snowed last night and everything was still now, barely a sound around them.

Yuuri patted Makkachin’s head, burying his gloved fingers into the poodle’s fur and imagined he could feel the dog’s warmth directly. He didn’t want to linger anymore, because it was a bit too cold for the dog too. Just as he was about to open his mouth and inform Makkachin of the fact, the silence was broken with the sound of boots crunching over the fresh snow. It was a faint sound, but it drew their attention. A woman, middle-aged, her frostbitten nose visible over the layers of ratty clothes she’d wrapped around herself. Her boots were black, barely frosted over.

“Hello,” she greeted, in English, much to Yuuri’s surprise. He nodded in response, feeling suddenly flustered. “You look cold.”

He  _ was _ .

“Come with me. I have a cabin nearby and I have loads of tea and vodka.” Yuuri smiled a little. He’d probably pass on the vodka, but he was certainly interested in tea, and he had a hard time saying no to people. So, even though Victor had told him not to follow strange women into forests, he did. As promised, she led him to a small wooden cabin not too far from the edge of the forest. There was a frozen lake next to it, the pier all but covered in white. It was very picturesque. Yuuri went into the cabin after lingering outside to breathe in the untouched beauty of the place. The air smelled cold and fresh, though all Yuuri could smell at that moment was  _ snow _ .

Makkachin made a beeline for the fireplace, once inside, and Yuuri drew his wooden chair next to it and peeled his gloves off to work some warmth back into them. The cabin was rather bare, but there was a cosy feeling to it that Yuuri couldn’t shake off. The woman returned presently with a large mug of tea, which she placed into Yuuri’s stiff fingers. The warmth bled into his skin instantly, making Yuuri shiver in delight. He took a sip, noting that it was lightly spiked, but he could hardly complain. He’d never told her no.

“What is a foreigner like you doing here in this weather?” She asked, pouring them refills.

“Oh, I’m competing in the skating competition,” Yuuri said. He set his mug down reluctantly, and rummaged into his bag to produce his skates. He knew he wasn’t going to skate in the forest, but he rarely went anywhere without them. The woman looked at them, fascinated.

“I would like to see,” she said, a touch wistfully, and blew on the steam off her mug.

Yuuri smiled, running a finger over the rim of the boots. “Maybe – if it’s not a bother – I can show you a bit later? On the lake outside, as a thanks for the tea. The competition is in a few days, so you can come watch that too, later. If you want.”

The woman looked up, a pleased emotion spreading across her features. “Certainly. You’re such a nice boy.”

Yuuri blushed.

* * *

Yuuri glided across the lake, on the untouched ice, barely even feeling the cold. It was certainly very different than the rink, but Yuuri liked it. There was no music, no Victor, no Yuuko, just the trees, the weak sunshine and his small audience. So Yuuri skated for them – nothing fancy, a few jumps, a few spins, and some steps he and Victor had been practicing for a while. There was no need for music for it, because the moment Yuuri got into it, the music filtered through his mind unbidden. Once it stopped, so did Yuuri.

Panting, he skated off the surface of the lake and came to rest at the snow-covered bank. His hostess clapped enthusiastically, causing Makkachin to bark in excitement, and Yuuri felt a little flustered.

“That was  _ wonderful! _ ” She told him, eyes sparkling. “It looked like you were flying.”

Yuuri rubbed the back of his neck and hid his pleased smile into his sleeve. If only skating in the competition would be  _ this _ easy. “Thank you,” he said.

“No, no, thank you. That was wonderful, you’re very talented.”

“The one who is talented is my coach. Without him –”

“Oh?” She asked, her interest piqued. “What of him?”

And Yuuri told her, high on having pulled off a flawless routine and under the warmth and kindness of manner, he spilled all of his Victor related feelings that he otherwise could not have. She listened, attentive to the end, back in the little cabin. They both went through another kettle of tea before Yuuri was done, and when he was, the woman fell into deep thought. Yuuri, for his part, having exhausted himself emotionally and physically, also lapsed into silence. When the tea had finally gone cold, she turned her gaze back to Yuuri, an unearthly glitter in them.

“I see what you mean, but you do sell yourself short, Yuuri.”

Yuuri stared into his cup in lieu of an answer.

She continued, “Well, it doesn’t matter. In any case, it’s almost afternoon, I think you had better head back – your Victor might be worried.” Her grin turned impish. “When you leave, however, make sure not to step to the right.”

“Huh?” Yuuri asked, ignoring the bit about  _ his _ Victor. “Not step right where.”

“At the exit,” she said, a little mysteriously, and shooed him out of the door. Yuuri went, slightly confused, with Makkachin in tow and wondered what she could have meant by it. He found his way back easily – Makkachin helped! – and right at the lip of the forest, Yuuri pivoted a little to avoid the sudden dislodging of the snow, invariably to the right. Once he had, her words came back to him, but he dismissed it as a coincidence and stepped outside.

* * *

 

He was disoriented by the sudden feeling of displacement, the feeling that though he had only taken one step further, somehow, the  _ entire _ world had changed. Everything was the same, except subtly different that couldn’t be seen – only felt. He blinked furiously, trying to understand the feeling of wrongness in his gut, but got nothing out of it. Yuuri shook his head a few times, glancing between Makkachin and his surroundings alternatively. Nothing seemed to stand out except for the niggling feeling in the back of his head, prickling uncomfortably.

Carefully, he picked his way back to Victor’s place – or tried to, any rate, because all the familiar landmarks were missing. He could see the city in the distance, but it was much farther than he was used to. Makkachin whined softly, rubbing her face against his pants leg and wagged her tail.

“I don’t know,” he confessed to her, crouching down to her eye-level, which she then took as permission to bathe his face with her tongue. He patted her head and tried to take deep breaths, wondering if the stress of the competition was getting to him to the point that he was imagining things. Makkachin’s warmth was grounding, helping him relax. After hugging and petting the dog for a few moments, Yuuri had managed to stabilise his inner thoughts enough to get back up and resume his trek through the frozen landscape, subtly altered though it might be. He rose to his feet and set his sights towards the city once more, only to halt when he saw a figure walk in his direction.

A heartbreakingly familiar figure.

Yuuri forgot the cold, the discomfort he’d been feeling earlier, could only focus on what was right in front of him. There was no recognition in that icy blue gaze, no smile on his exquisite features, only mild puzzlement. Yuuri’s chest constricted painfully, twisting and fluttering, trying to escape the cage of his ribs. He wanted to open his mouth and call out, say something –  _ anything _ , but he was already turning away, rerouting himself towards the other place Yuuri knew he could go to, but Makkachin beat him to the punch. She dislodged herself out of Yuuri’s lax grip and bounded over to attack the newcomer, bowling him over and lathering his face instead, eliciting a shocked, pleased sound.

It went straight to Yuuri’s gut.

He walked closer, legs shaking with something more than the bone-chilling cold, as the stranger – but was he really – was sprawled over the snow, his long silvery hair scattered artfully over the white. His face was obscured by Makkachin’s enthusiastic loving, but Yuuri could see still see flashes.

“Victor,” he said, softly, wonderingly, unsure as to what he was seeing.

Victor turned his head, blinked once in confusion and then stared. “Yes,” he said, still petting Makkachin. “Your dog is very friendly.”

Yuuri’s legs gave out. His knees touched the ground and he hunched over, breathing hard, face burning. Victor right now was the one he’d idolised, and Yuuri was slowly realising that photos and videos did not do his face any justice. Up so close, Yuuri could barely afford to meet his eyes. The Victor he knew this close, he had a very distinct, adult-like beauty that was at once untouchable and still accessible. Victor himself had made it so. The Victor in front of his eyes right now, though, he looked distant and remote, doll-like, his body slender and leaner than he remembered, face still angular. He was excruciatingly beautiful – Yuuri found it hard to even look at him, though he had worshipped that face for years and years.

“Are you okay?” Victor was asking him.  _ Him _ , of all people. And though his face was cold, his voice held the familiar warmth that crumbled all of Yuuri’s defences. Then again, he had no defences against Victor in the first place.

“Yeah, just got dizzy for a moment,” he lied through his teeth, lifting himself back up and giving Victor a wobbly smile. He felt like crying.

Victor reached out – because of course he did – and brushed the snow off Yuuri’s shoulder. “Your lips are blue,” he remarked. “My skating ring is not far off; would you like to come with me there so you can warm up a little? You don’t seem like you’re used to Russia’s winters.”

He said he was not, and followed after Victor like a parched man chasing after a mirage, lost in the desert.

* * *

Victor skated around the rink, conspicuously empty though Yuuri had been here countless times and had never seen it this deserted. The sense of unreality had settled on him by now, and he’d resigned himself to it. Slowly, Victor’s skating began to take shape, the movement of his hands and feet a familiar pattern, something Yuuri knew at the back of his hand. He reached for the skates he carried inside his backpack, took the guards off, and put them on. Moments later, he had joined Victor across the rink. He wasn’t properly warmed up, but his skin was still a little sweaty from the workout before so he supposed it was okay.

Victor allowed him space, limiting his movements, and they skated side by side, careful so as to not bump into each other. Yuuri knew what he was skating now, and Victor did too, as his eyes grew wider and his movements warier. Eventually, they came to a standstill, slowing down in increments. The blue of Victor’s striking eyes was shaded, covered with long, silver hair that hid his face like a curtain. There was uncertainty in his face, born of youth and inexperience, and the realisation that this Victor was actually just a fifteen-year-old child sank in.

“This is your routine,” Yuuri said, apropos of nothing, and shrugged in a helpless gesture. Victor’s face was still tightened in worry as he eyed him. Then he glanced at Makkachin and his gaze softened, just a little, and Yuuri knew. He  _ knew _ that look. He waved his arms a little to draw Victor’s attention back to himself. “Ah, I’m sorry – I’m a fan, you know. I didn’t realise I was doing it until I was halfway there.”

The small furrow between Victor’s brow deepened. “How do you perform this routine better than I do?” He sounded nonplussed, which was exactly what Yuuri felt now because he’d never imagined that he could skate this routine  _ better _ than Victor. Because it had been built around Victor’s current frame, his strengths, and Yuuri, even at the age of twenty-three, was too old to skate it flawlessly. And  _ yet _ .

“I – I,” he stuttered, feeling the blood rush to his face. Embarrassment and something else, but it only served to irritate Victor further.

“How?” he demanded, skating closer until they were nearly eye to eye. At this age, Victor was slightly shorter than Yuuri, and that was such a startling realisation that Yuuri almost tipped back to fall on his ass. Almost.

“I’ve been watching –”

“You’re a professional, aren’t you?” Victor asked, sharp and annoyed. The look of displeasure Victor was currently sporting made Yuuri feel sick. He was glad that he only once elicited something close to it, because being hated by Victor wasn’t a sensation he ever wished to experience. To say that he thought his world might end wouldn’t be an exaggeration at this point.

“I – I am, but,” he fumbled around for a story, and then hurried, “but I got hurt, so I don’t skate professionally anymore. I never was good enough to make it to the championships anyway.” It was a white lie, but he’d been put on the spot, and Victor’s eyes were far too cold for Yuuri to survive. Making him feel insubstantial, like he was air, probably not fit for Victor to even breathe.

“Well,” Victor said, blinking a little. “It’s true that your movements were sloppy. But there was  _ something  _ in there – I don’t know what.” He lowered his face in contemplation and seemed forget that Yuuri was standing right there.

This. This had to be how Victor must have felt upon seeing Yuuri skate his routine. The airy feeling returned full-force, imagining that kind of cold look directed by the Victor of his present.  _ His _ Victor. His coach. Looking at him like he was a threat to be eliminated. Maybe Yuuri was lucky that Victor was the age he was, having the opportunity to take time off as he was already a five-times world champion and top of the skating world. Not the child in front of him with all the potential in the world just ready to blossom. Yuuri couldn’t make him waver, not now.

“We’re just different types of skaters,” he said. “It’s true that I’m rusty—” he was not. “But I still have far more experience than you do.” That had some merit to it, technically speaking. “It’s nothing to feel bad about.” Had he alighted on the right track? He had no idea.

“I don’t feel  _ bad _ ,” Victor said, straining to emphasise but not meeting Yuuri’s eyes. “For someone so graceless, you made it look  _ beautiful _ .” He looked resentful and awed in parts, when Yuuri did manage to catch the look on his face. Such a curious feeling, for both of them.

A little bit of truth wouldn’t hurt, then. “That’s because I skated it for you,” Yuuri admitted, trying his best to make sure that his tongue didn’t tie itself into knots. It was his childhood dream to meet Victor, which when he managed to start skating professionally grew. But the simple desire of a child: to meet the person he loved the  _ most _ in the entire world, to have it fulfilled in such a way. It had to be a dream. “It’s the beauty of your routine reflected back at you that seems so beautiful to you, Victor, nothing more.”

“For me?” He asked. “All that just for me?” His tone was incredulous, all of a sudden. Because this Victor wasn’t used to his fame, the adoration of his fans, and most of all, he hadn’t yet weaponised his charm. He had no idea he could inspire such passion in anyone, much less someone like Yuuri. He would learn and he would wield it like a magic trick, but that was then. This was now.

“Yes,” Yuuri said. “For  _ you _ .”

Victor stared at him in silence for a bit before averting his eyes. In embarrassment, perhaps? Yuuri couldn’t really tell. It was hard to imagine Victor being embarrassed as his current counterpart was anything  _ but _ . However, this Victor –

“Thanks,” Victor said, voice just loud enough to carry in the space between them. Yuuri leaned closer to get a better look at him, and yes, sure enough, Victor’s cheeks were no longer red just because of the exertion and the cold anymore.

Yuuri skated backwards, closing his eyes and remembering the moves imprinted on his brain, and began executing them – one by one. A three-one-two combination, a flying sit spin, followed by more combination spins, and then step sequences that had never failed to enthralled the audience. He’d skated these, sometimes together with Yuuko, and perhaps  _ that _ was the answer. Yuuri slowed to a stop, skating towards Victor until they were eye to eye. Victor hadn’t moved from his spot, transfixed as he was with Yuuri’s perfect recreation of his Free Skate program of the season.

He held his hand out for Victor, smile on his face, and after a moment’s hesitation it was taken. Yuuri pulled him towards the centre ice, spinning them around lazily. There was tension in Victor’s body, a stiffness in his movements but he’d disguised it well enough with his natural grace. But Yuuri could tell. Because this was still Victor.

He took Victor by the elbow, and nudged him to get into the position. Victor complied readily enough, understanding Yuuri’s intentions through actions alone. Words were rendered unnecessary. They started by skating around the rink in sync, with Victor watching him from the corner of his eyes. It didn’t take them long to fall into a rhythm with each other. As Victor gained more confidence in moving together, Yuuri pulled him closer so that Victor’s head rested gently against his shoulder. Long silvery hair spilled over Yuuri’s chest, smelling faintly of a floral shampoo. Delicate like the person in his arms, so tentative and yet so trusting. So open and sweet. Unlike the Victor that Yuuri knew – far more intimately – that held his secrets close to his heart and feelings even closer.

He had never seen his Victor frown or get angry. Disappointed, yes, but never angry. Never upset. He was always so quick to mask his emotions that didn’t have a positive edge. Yuuri often wondered what had made them that way, considering how Victor was right now.

Victor’s lips were stretched in a pleased arc, sending a sharp ache through Yuuri’s chest that almost made him falter. He shook his head at the concerned glance Victor sent his way, and slid his hands down to Victor’s waist. He felt Victor’s body respond as Yuuri lifted him a little – unused to actual lifts, as he wasn’t a pair skater, but he had enough upper body strength to pull it off. It wasn’t very graceful, and he was sure that it would be uncomfortable for Victor, but there were no complaints from that side. He helped Victor twist in his grip so that they were facing each other, and then Yuuri set him down gently, pulling him closer again.

This time, it was Victor who wrapped his arm around Yuuri’s neck and leaned his forehead against Yuuri’s in the most tender of touches. Yuuri’s heart thumped in response and he closed his eyes, letting Victor take the lead this time as they drifted across the expanse of the rink, bodies flowing together to invisible music. Yuuri could hear it nonetheless: the sound of Victor’s heartbeat and the tempo of his breaths in time with Yuuri’s own. A song sweeter, more powerful and meaningful to Yuuri than any other.

He never wanted it to end.

They skated together, arm in arm, until their legs ached from exertion and shadows lengthened over the white ice. The surface was marked with the signs of their skating all over and it was no longer smooth but made more beautiful for it. Victor came to a stop first, and Yuuri followed reluctantly. They pulled away, somewhat reluctantly, and this time there was no way Yuuri could have mistaken the colour on Victor’s face as anything but born of shyness and pleasure. He looked _ exhausted,  _ but that just accentuated the look on his face.

“You’re terrible at pair skating,” Victor informed him once he’d gotten his breath back.

Yuuri let out a startled laugh. “How like you to just say that to my face.” Victor tilted his head at him, like a confused little baby bird. It made Yuuri’s linger annoyance melt into adoration and a deep-seated love. “I’m not a pair skater. This is the first time I’ve tried it.”

“Well, you should try harder. If you can’t skate professionally, you can learn ice dancing or something.”

“To stay on the ice?” Yuuri asked, softly.

Victor nodded. “To stay on the ice. Because you look like you belong there.”

“Thank you,” Yuuri said. And he meant it, too. Because no matter which Victor he was up against, he could never argue that the compliments he gave were insincere. “That’d be a viable career option for me if I do want.”

“Can you find a good partner though?” Victor asked him, slowly making his way towards the benches.

The image of an older, mature Victor popped into his head without preamble. “Yes,” Yuuri said, fondness bubbling up in his chest. “I can.”

“That’s good then.”

They got off the rink, putting on skate guards and sitting down on the benches to catch their breaths. Victor handed him a clean towel which Yuuri accepted with a small sound of gratitude. Victor spent a long time petting Makkachin, unwilling to part with the dog as much as the dog was unwilling to let go. However, it was time to leave soon enough and Yuuri had a feeling that the stolen moment he’d been granted was to end soon as well. Victor pulled his hands away reluctantly, flashed Yuuri a half-smile, and put on his gloves and the rest to leave. Yuuri watched him go. But just as he reached the threshold, Victor stopped and looked back at Yuuri, face caught in the fading rays of the sun and bathing it in muted golden light. Like an angel.

“Thank you,” he said, much more clearly this time. “Sometimes,” he lowered his eyes as if trying to find the right words in an unfamiliar language. “It’s hard to remember what I’m skating for. Thank you for reminding me.”

“I could say the same,” Yuuri replied around the lump in his throat. He did not thank Victor though, because that would never be enough and could never even begin to convey the meaning Victor held in his life. But he’d always known that it wasn’t quantifiable or definable in any way. He’d called it love, but  _ love _ was only the starting point where his feelings had taken off and soared to unimaginable heights.

“Go find your partner,” Victor was telling him then. “And get back on the ice. I want to meet you there, in the competitions, okay?”

“Okay,” Yuuri said. Victor gave him a sharp nod of acknowledgment and passed out of Yuuri’s field of vision. Yuuri stared at the place where he had stood for a long time, before shaking himself out of the stupor and walked out as well. And just as he’d almost expected, the moment he stepped out of the threshold, he was returned –  _ restored _ to the familiar surroundings of the city he’d come to know in the past couple of days. He dug out his phone out of the pocket and rang Victor immediately, almost hungry to hear his voice.

Victor did not disappoint him.

“I’m lost. Please take me home,” Yuuri said to him on the phone, leaning against the wall of the building he’d just been in. He needed to see his Victor – his coach and the person closest to him. Not the idol who had been forever out of his reach, the one who adorned his walls, the veritable god of skating but the sweet, kind, sharp-tongued man who loved good food, his dog and Yuuri in equal measures.

The one who had made him feel worthwhile. The one who had made him realise – even if just now – that he had always been worthwhile.

It wasn’t long before that Victor appeared before him, face scrunched in worry that did not immediately relax upon seeing Yuuri. He crouched down to his level, going on his knees, and wrapped his arms around Yuuri. And Yuuri just gave into his urges and clutched at him. He felt disoriented and lost, the experiences of the day having taken its toll on him finally, and Victor was his only anchor in the whole world.

“Yuuri, Yuuri,  _ Yuuri _ ” Victor whispered, soft and sweet, into his ear and held him impossibly close. “I was so worried.”

“I’m sorry. I’m really sorry. I’m fine, though.”

Victor just held him tighter. “I thought something had happened to you when you didn’t return after your morning run.”

“Yeah, I’m not sure what happened. I think I got lost.”

“I’m sorry, I should have come with you.” Victor sounded so distraught and upset that Yuuri couldn’t take it any longer.

“It’s okay, not your fault. I followed a random woman when you had told me not to.”

That made Victor stiffen in his hold. He pulled away a little to look at Yuuri’s face searchingly, before pursing his lips. “Hmm, that reminds me of something – how curious. Once, I met a guy here at this rink. I don’t really remember that day that well, and sometimes I feel like it was probably just an elaborate dream. But that guy had said the same thing as you did just now.”

Yuuri forgot to breathe for several seconds as Victor continued, “Well, dream or not, it was a nice memory.”

“I – I see,” Yuuri said, licking his lips. His fingers curled tighter into Victor’s jacket. “Victor, I’m cold.”

Victor chuckled a little. “Sorry, Yuuri. I’m just talking nonsense right now because I’m so relieved right now. Your phone wouldn’t connect and I was unable to locate you. I was worried out of my mind. I’m so,  _ so _ glad that you are all right.” He tucked Yuuri’s head into his chest and squeezed him. “Don’t scare me like that.”

“I’m sorry,” Yuuri mumbled into the fabric of Victor’s jacket. He felt like crying and he wasn’t even sure  _ why _ .

“It’s fine!” Victor said and did not let go. Yuuri never wanted him to, either. He held onto Victor’s hand as they walked back home and let himself be tucked into Victor’s bed, let Victor ply him with hot chocolate and curl around him as they slept. And as Yuuri reached out to touch the feather-soft hair on Victor’s head, he realised that Victor probably needed him as much as he needed Victor.

He closed the distance between them and let himself slot into the place beside Victor that was made  _ just _ for him, feeling warm and content at the knowledge that he alone belonged here to the exclusion of all others. 

  
  



End file.
